


온 힘을 다해 뻗어도

by quagmireisadora



Category: K-pop, SHINee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Pirate, Five Stages of Grief, Korean History, Motherhood, Other, Past Relationship(s), Supernatural Elements, joseon era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:14:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26019385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quagmireisadora/pseuds/quagmireisadora
Summary: I wish to pluck this dead moon, these dying stars from the sky,From this horizon, and from that one.Not one, not two, but all; I wish to pluck them with my angry fists.Dear heart, dear desperate heart, what should I do?(Asrar-ul Haq Majaz)
Relationships: Kim Gwiboon/Kim Jonghyun
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7
Collections: Summer of SHINee Round 2





	온 힘을 다해 뻗어도

**Author's Note:**

> The following is intended to be read back and forth, from Jjong to Gwi. It is best viewed on PC. Enjai.

The moon is a blind eye staring down at him.

| 

The stars are blinding, she cannot read them.  
  
---|---  
  
The sea is made of glowing emeralds.

| 

The sea is made of smouldering peat.  
  
He closes his eyes and breathes to stay alive.

| 

She wanders the decks, looking for answers.  
  
The waves embrace him in their cold and wet arms. They wash him clean of his loneliness.

| 

Her eyes flash with anger at the dead silences above her, but she dares not to revive them.  
  
When the waves part and the moon is joined by other eyes watching him; when he is accosted for answers that only his tongue can produce, then he finally looks. He finally stares at the hull looming above him, and weakly waves a painful and broken arm at it.

“I live…” he calls out to them. “I am here!”

| 

“Avast, a man!” a voice in the crow’s nest tells her. She does not belay the words, nor adds to them. She watches quietly as they fish him out of the water, driftwood and all. And when he is presented prone before her, she kicks his side hoping to rouse him.

“What ungodly curse are ye?!” she spits.  
  
He spits back. Coughs of salt leave him for breath. The night sky is speaking. The hard ground is pitching. His throat is burning. A storm is coming. He closes his eyes once more, sand and fire grate under his vision. “Water,” he begs. “Prithee, a sip of water.”

| 

“Cap’n?” one of the crew asks for permission. “Shall we keep ‘im? Or is the scurvied dog jetsam?”

“Leave ‘im be,” Gwiboon orders. “Present the wretch to me cabin when he be awake again.”  
  
More water rushes into him. Embraces him, from the inside. He allows it to hold him like a lover. He allows it to fill him, make his heart burst with renewed life. He allows the water to bring him to peaceful sleep. He allows the water to swill in his mind like dreams of a bright and beautiful sky, a sky full of stars that tell him their stories.

The world is smaller, quieter now that he is inside. He is safe. He will live to see another bright morning and another blinding day.

| 

More water rushes past them. She watches its grey mass rinse the sides of the ship, frothing and dancing where salt meets wood. The ship dances too, lee and wind. The sails are bursting and billowing, the boatswain pulls at the riggings. Her eyes follow his feet, follow his arms and wrists. He looks like he is engaged in a wild dance of his own.

The world is awakening now that the night is dying. She lets it take a steadying breath of respite before she burns it all to the ground.  
  
The sea is made of glowing emeralds.

| 

The sea is made of smouldering peat.  
  
The skies are glimmering with sunlight.

| 

The heavens look down on her with fury.  
  
He closes his eyes and breathes to stay alive.

| 

She wanders the deck, looking for answers.  
  
When Jonghyun awakens again, there are fearsome men leaning over him like vicious gulls. Their gazes are cold, their faces hold cutting edges. He tries to sit up to face their unspoken threats, but a foot pushes him back to the hard floor. He groans in pain, but the pressure on his chest does not let up for a long and frightening moment.

Jonghyun gulps.

| 

When she finds a moment of silence for herself, her thoughts finally still and come to rest. She lays her head on a map and closes her eyes, looking to her reveries for guidance. None comes, and she grows afraid. “Cap’n,” a grunt calls her back to attention. “The wretch lives. Awake and blubberin', he was. Be beggin' t' parley with ye.”

Gwiboon nods.  
  
|   
  
Her gaze is just as cold and harsh, but she holds it out like a shield. She does not mean for it to hurt him, he can tell. And yet when she covers him with her eyes, he feels her blades slashing into his flesh.

He looks away from her and places his attention onto the floorboards.

| 

He is not one of them, this much is certain to her when she pierces him in silent interrogation. He is much too full of regard, much too honourable for her to punish him without reason. He is no pirate, she can tell.

Then what is he? Who is he? Where has he come from? Why was he afloat?  
  
“You saved me.”

| 

She nods. “Aye.”  
  
“I am grateful to you.”

| 

“Remains t' be seen.”  
  
Jonghyun searches for a better way to present his gratitude. “I… I offer my services as a sea artist. To repay my debt to you.”

| 

“A reader of stars are ye?” she considers him, still distrusting. He wears the uniform of the navy, but clothes can be stolen. “Run a rig…”  
  
He makes no move to convince her.

| 

She makes no move to push him.  
  
“Of course…” he offers. “If you think me a liar… if you wish, you may throw me back into the sea. I will not fight it.” He is not afraid of her, just as she is not afraid of him.

| 

“Aye?” she tests him. “If ye knew what lived in these waters ye wouldn’t say that.” A few men chuckle. “Some grub ye’d be for the fish. Sea artist… ye parrot-loving rogue!”  
  
“Had a cutlass and gun on this scurvy dog when we fished ‘im out, Cap'n,” a gruff one-eyed man accuses. “But no compass! The slippery bastard… he could be a spy!”

He does not defend himself of the claim, knowing he will be safe as long as he is quiet.

| 

“Had a _hopae_ too, Cap'n,” another voice joins in. “Not a lot of lubbers with tags like his, and dinna spare the whip! I bet me good leg he must be worth a lot to someone.”

She patiently listens and weighs the intruder, a hand waiting on the hilt of her dagger.  
  
Jonghyun hangs his head low. “Do with me as you please,” he allows. “But know that should you continue on your way to Naju, the royal guards stationed there will not show you any kindness.” He peeks up at the woman with some meaning in his gaze.

| 

Gwiboon’s scorn falls away. “Which vile sea bass told ‘im where we be headed for? Eh?!”

“The ornery cuss knew, I'll warrant ye, Cap’n!” one insists. “On the deck, he looked like there were a ghost whispering to ‘im!”  
  
He nods like that should be proof enough. Stepping forward, he raises his hands in explanation. “Jeju,” he convinces. “If we go to Jeju for now, no one will hurt us.”

| 

“Us?” she challenges, stepping forward in response. “Blast ye, there be no us. Until I be knowing what to do with ye, ye're a slave on this ship, and ye'll act as be fitting of one.”  
  
A push, a shove, a restraint, a clinking of chains. Two gunners’ mates clutch him on either side and lead him back out and down.

| 

“The hold, Cap’n?”

“Aye,” Gwiboon directs. “Watch ‘im closely.”  
  
The ship swallows them all whole.

| 

The ship moves to change course.  
  
A burble grows to the sides the deeper down they go, water pushing and pulling their vessel. The song of the sea, he would always call it. As if it were reminding him he was completely, hopelessly surrounded.

| 

A murmur goes up among the crew when she orders them to Jeju. But they obey regardless. The sails are coiled and the mast creaks. The wind flutters around her braid, breathing old and hidden secrets to her.  
  
|   
  
The sea is made of glowing emeralds.

| 

The sea is made of smouldering peat.  
  
It courses with unspoken words and unsung songs. It bursts with stories that remain untold. The sea makes him want to watch it cautiously, but it also makes him want to turn away from its forever shifting shell. If the sea were a living thing, he would gather it in his arms and hush it to sleep. _Quiet now_ , he would murmur to its briny tears. _You are not alone, I am here. Quiet yourself._

These thoughts are just as loud as the sea. He dares not share them with the brigands who hold him captive, for he is completely at their mercy. They could run him through with their swords, or push him overboard to drown. Either end is unsavoury to him, for no matter how beautiful the sea may look with its dazzling green waves, dark forms loom within it. Bleak thoughts and brooding masses lurk just beneath their sternpost, making the restless sea look even sadder.

| 

She sets fire to its oily shallows every chance she gets. It reeks with decaying kingdoms and crumbling empires. It is dying, this sea and all the rivers flowing into it. She lived her life surrounded by its mortality, and now she floats above it, building pyres for its shores so she does not have to look at it. _The sea is full of death_ , she thinks, _and if we stop moving across its breadth it will eat us._

She never shares her dread with the crew, for a captain must be terrifying as the waters she sails. So she hangs weapons in her belt as a show of strength, while she shudders in solitude. She builds a second Gwiboon who holds her peace while the first one pretends to be a formidable threat to the kingdom. She kills and loots and pillages and shows no mercy. She gives no quarter in a fight for her life. But this man… when they bring him forth, which Gwiboon should she be for him?  
  
He waits to be judged by his captors.

| 

“Who are ye?” she wonders at his calm.  
  
Jonghyun has often asked himself the question. Who is he? What is his purpose? What does his life mean, if anything? Why was he born and what must he do to remain alive, besides continuing to breathe? He has wondered for years. But he can ponder over those questions later, when he is alone under the stars and his cup is overflowing with makgeolli. For now, he must settle the matter.

“I am Jonghyun. Kim Jonghyun,” he answers like he is confessing. “Fourteenth son of the Hamchang Kim clan in Sangju.”

| 

He seems in no rush to save himself. He is quiet when he begins to speak, when he starts a sentence and when he pauses for a breath. His silences are abundant, and they speak for him, along with his soft whispers. His two faces hold hands and swing them when he talks. They hold fast together in an unbreakable grip. They run together, when he opens his mouth and begins his story.

“A Hamchang…” Gwiboon considers. The wind whips them but while others shuffle, she holds still as an iron stake. “One from old Gaya, then.”  
  
He is impressed by her knowledge.

| 

“Ye take me for an idiot?”  
  
“N-no!” he shakes his head. “In truth, I am… fascinated,” he discloses. “You are powerful.”

| 

“Ye ne'er met a seadog before?” she snorts. “Or ye never seen a wench on a ship before.”   
  
He thinks for a moment. “I suppose both.”

| 

His honesty surprises her. She grows wary.  
  
He considers her uneasiness before continuing. “I am neither spy nor of import. But I may be of some use to your helmsman,” he offers with his hands still tied fast.

| 

“And if I dern't trust ye?” she challenges, ignoring his arms and cross her own in defiance. “If I decide ye're better poxed to me?” she tilts her head. “Will ye fight me?”  
  
“I am a poor fighter,” Jonghyun smiles. “I am certain you would best me with ease, captain. I would be loath to go against you.”

| 

“Ye would?” Gwiboon considers. After a moment of thought she pulls her dagger and swipes the blade down in a quick motion.  
  
|   
  
The waves are rolling.

| 

The salt is burning.  
  
His words are spilling.

| 

Her tears are drying.  
  
Night arrives, adorned with starlight.

| 

Night arrives, crawling on its knees.  
  
Clouds gather and recede, their masses filled with questions unreturned. Above them live a million lights of knowledge, a million consolations to his weariness. But tonight, they do not touch his hand when he stretches it out for a meeting. On the wind is another gathering, of breath unspent and promises unkept. There is a secret he must reveal but he does not. There is a defeat he must admit, but he cannot. The strength it demands is too high a toll to pay. The threads he must cut are too precious to cut away.

| 

Clouds swallow the darkness whole. Rain bathes the coaming and breaches the orlop. Fighting the rigging, she drowns in the deluge. It does not wash her. It does not clean her grief away. So she fights it. Calling all hands hoay and shoving the cockswain out of her way, she takes hold of the helm and fights the night. It begs her to stop, begs her to still, begs her to drop the killick and strike colors. But she will not surrender. She will never surrender to the clouds or the rain or anything else that wages battle with her.  
  
He closes his eyes and breathes to stay alive.

| 

She wanders the decks, looking for answers.  
  
The ensuing calm is a dream of reprieve.

| 

The ensuing calm is the white of a flag.  
  
Sleep is stubborn. It comes to him with difficulty. He lets it be wilful, lets it be elusive. He doesn't mind its distances from his eyes, but he watches it from the corners of his vision where it dances just out of reach.

Like the moon.

The moon is a friend. An old friend. Or perhaps more than just that. He can trust it bright circle: for even when it changes, it doesn't change. It is steady, expected. He can trust it to always be there. It never moves away from his sight, even when clouds try to eat it whole. It remains suspended above his head. He cannot reach it, cannot touch it, just like sleep. But he was never meant to touch it. It is as it always was born to be--distant.

Cold. Sad. Alone.

| 

Sleep is restful. It is an easy respite from fear. She lets it shield her, lets it embrace her. She doesn't mind the darkness of dreams, but she welcomes the light when it appears, swimming inside her mind, washing her.

Like the ocean.

The ocean is desolate. A forced exile. She belongs to it, but also doesn't. She wields it like a weapon, like daggers on her belt. It is shifty, unpredictable. She relies on it for survival. It never gives her up, never betrays even when the odds are stacked against her. It hugs her, fastens around her stance. She cannot tame it, cannot contain it, just like sleep. But she was never meant to. It is as wild as her and it maintains its unchanging form--bloated. 

Cold. Sad. Alone.  
  
He watches them approach the shallows and hangs off the side of the quarter deck, admiring the view. Jeju is too far to be within reach of the throne, he knows from past visits. The people here are kinder, their hearts are warmer, their words more sincere.

| 

Gwiboon slips out of sleep and into the waking world, and the ship rocks as if by her movements. She wades, floats, swims out into the open. There is no land in sight, not at first. But when she turns and finds dark trees swaying in welcome, she frowns.  
  
“Land, ho!” a yell rises.

| 

“Land, ho!” she calls back.  
  
Darkness abates.

| 

Daylight assails.  
  
The skies are glimmering with sunlight.

| 

The heavens look down on her with fury.  
  
Below him, the captain walks out onto the main deck like a bird leaving captivity. Her footsteps sound unsure of themselves, mistrusting the solidness of the floor. He holds his tongue and holds his place, watching like a moon watches from above her head. 

| 

_Home_ , she wonders, _or someplace wearing the cloak of home?_ The beach is just as warm, the mountain just as high, the air just as heavy. She breaths it in, and it is as wet as the waves that lap at the stern of the ship. For a moment, she wants to jump overboard and swim ashore.  
  
"It is beautiful, yes?" he finally lets out, too soft for her ears to catch, but hoping the wind would be his messenger.

| 

“Cap'n,” a hand approaches. “The anchor been lowered. Per yer orders, we be docked here till ye says.”  
  
When her eyes find his, he bows his head in respect.

| 

When his face swims into sight, she nods her notice.  
  
“What think you, of these wondrous sights, captain?”

| 

“I dern't think much o' anythin', rum one,” she shrugs.  
  
A laugh moves from his chest to his mouth, pouring out like watery breath. “Indeed, you are like none that ride the waves,” he bows again, his spirts rising as high as his head lowers.

| 

She scoffs at the absurdity. “Don't dare t' joke with me, wretch,” her words slowly grind his smile down to nothing, an inch of cutlass leaving the scabbard. “I be not sure yet I like ye.”  
  
Sobered, he comes to her side, taking in the island and all its green glory.

| 

Her stare remains on his countenance, watching it shift like day following night.  
  
“The king’s protection starts on land and ends at shore,” he continues to chip at the ice between them. “Many a war could he wage, many lands could he win. Yet never will he win with his armies at sea.”

| 

“Aye…” she accepts after a moment of consideration. “The sea be its own king. Its own queen and court and subject,” she hushes. “Me whole life I gave to it, but could ne'er control it with me two hands.”  
  
He wonders over the words like they are a solemn riddle.

| 

She regrets the words like they are a misspoken curse.  
  
Many breaths come and go, but words have left their company.

| 

Many thoughts come and go, but she has no reason to voice them.  
  
The sea is made of glowing emeralds.

| 

The sea is made of smouldering peat.  
  
“The wind favours us,” he breaks his silence while she keeps hers alive.

| 

“That it does,” she nods and watches the horizon. “Ye reckon it will stay so?”  
  
“Alas, that I cannot read the future,” Jonghyun offers his answer with the bravery of a halting smile.

| 

“’Tis a true shame,” she allows his humour to touch her. “Speak, then: will ye follow me to the shore or stay behind?”  
  
Surprise uses his face for a tongue. “Y-you wish to go ashore, captain?” he stutters, disbelieving. “On an errand or for supplies?”

| 

She spits her annoyance at him before leaving him behind. “Say aye if ye mean aye, scallywag, or dern't say anythin' at all.”  
  
He watches her anger.

| 

She ignores his calm.  
  
“Very well,” he accedes.

| 

“Come, then,” she orders.  
  
* * *

The air is cool.

| 

Her brow sweats.  
  
---|---  
  
The moon waxes.

| 

She curses its face.  
  
In his dreams, he is brave.

His eyes thirst for the enemy. It steals his peace, claims his silence. Separated from them, he tosses and turns. The land of waking cuts him deep. The lead of his eyes pushes him deeper. He spins he turns he revolves a thousand times, slashing blindly, calling out to his calm. He swims the length of every sea, drowning over and over without a shore in sight. He remains lost, his serenity forever trapped under the waves, splashing against his feet. Every night, on land or not, Jonghyun returns defeated to his bed.

But in his dreams he's brave.

A circle of light envelopes him, like two hands protecting the flickering wick of a lamp. He stands against the press of shadows, his scythe made of moonlight and his courage the color of smiles. In his dreams he is brave when he swims to the fight. In his dreams, he finds his north and knows his south. Where his eye lands, the sea retreats.

| 

In her dreams, she is happy.

Her eyes close to find lotuses gliding over a serene lake, it waters sweet its air light. Separating from them, she strolls along the banks with a smile adorning her face. She finds the words she is looking for and speaks them aloud. Her heart slips and skitters as familiar calloused hands hold onto her waist, as beloved voices call for her to see a newly learnt trick. She is safe, she is home, she is happy. And she stays as long as she can, her joy multiplied with each new trickle of sand. Every night, deep asleep, Gwiboon returns to the place she loves.

But in her dreams are lies.

She hardens herself in the daytime, bleeding the ship hands bleeding the ship bleeding the entire ocean to make it pay for her gloom. She makes the world walk on her blades while her own heart bleeds. In her dreams she has her past to live in, to love. In her dreams, she finds her bliss and holds it close. Where her sleep ends, the sea breaches.  
  
In his dreams he is brave. In his days, he hides.

| 

In her dreams she is happy. In her days, she fights.  
  
The long-clothes he is given are simple paper armour. The shoes fit him, the cloth around his waist tightens the vest. The pants he folds and the sleeves he rolls. Above his head sits a helmet protecting his face with shadow.

| 

The long-clothes are old and wrinkled, but she dons them with remnant grace. Her skirt is not fine, and her blouse is a little stained. The _jangot_ covers her braid and arms, and even the daggers she stuffs into a pocket.  
  
He balks at her.

| 

She snorts at him.  
  
“P-perchance, be you a _yangban_ lady, captain?”

| 

“Yer wits be marooned,” she ridicules his claim.  
  
The waves are rolling.

| 

The salt is burning.  
  
His words are spilling.

| 

Her tears are drying.  
  
He hosts her annoyance, but it does not stay long. Forgetting himself, he reaches out to touch the silk on her head, its green like rolling hills.

| 

She stills when he touches her clothes, her hand stilling the men who try to stop him and her mind stilling the urge to cut off his fingers herself.  
  
“I…” he hesitates. “Truly,” his whisper escapes him with the warmth of surprise. “You are an enemy I would not wish to have.”

| 

“Aye?” she says, adjusting her _chima_. “And why do ye say that now? Be ye tellin' me ye’re a privateer after all?” Some men laugh.  
  
He shakes his head and lowers it to hide the flush of his cheeks. “I… I simply compliment you. And the brilliance of your disguise.”

| 

“More of that and I’ll turn ye into shark bait!” she glares, beckoning him to fiddle with his disguise. “Three sheets t’ the wind…”  
  
He smiles in gratitude.

| 

She brushes him away.  
  
She feels warm when she is close and kind.

| 

He looks golden under the cuff of his shirt.  
  
The waves are rolling.

| 

The salt is burning.  
  
His words are spilling.

He is crafted from compassion. A life on water has hardened him to its dangers, but he has also honed his kindness. He has sharpened his senses, taught himself to attune to his instincts. He has grown stronger, braver, more self-assured. But he remembers his softness also, shows his good heart to all. He builds a balance between both parts of him, sailor and survivor. There is pride in this—that he is not roughed by the salinity or tempered by the currents. He bears tattoos on his skin but sweetness in his gaze. It is the pinnacle of his achievements, the coexisting kind and keen.

And when he notes it in her too, he is immediately captivated. That she isn't one or the other, that she is just like him, gives him hope. He is not alone. He is not solitary. There is another, in this large and sinister world. There is another, and he feels safe.

In Gwiboon’s company, he feels completely safe.

| 

Her tears are drying.

It is not that she is invincible. She was captured, once. Her chest at the end of a sword, she was caught and questioned once. _Be you man or beast?!_ they’d asked. “Neither,” she’d said. She is not man and she is not beast. She simply is, drifting along the whitecaps and diving through the tides. She is not man, she is not beast. She was born a woman, and if it is in her power, she wishes to die a woman. Perhaps this is an insult to other seadogs. Perhaps it makes her a coward. But she never wanted to be a seadog either. She never wanted this life, it was thrust on her like danger ususally is in the life of a woman.

And yet these men are her men. These pirates are her family now. They are loyal to her. They are obedient, as obedient as pirate may be expected to be. So she holds them dearly, even if she has no love for them. She hopes she does not have to give up on them.

She hopes she does not have to give up on Jonghyun.  
  
“Thank you, captain,” he steps away when she is done.

| 

“Come, then,” she clears her throat. “Onward smartly.”  
  
|   
  
Off sea legs, he strolls.

| 

Off sea legs, she stumbles.  
  
He makes no move to help her.

| 

She makes no move to ask him.  
  
Several fisher boats sit docked on the beach. The coast is free of watchers.

| 

Several corners hold unseen eyes. She grits her teeth and stares back at them.  
  
The air is cool.

| 

Her brow sweats.  
  
The sun has risen high.

| 

She tightens her cloak  
  
The walk to the city is long but easy. He keeps up with her hastening feet and smiles at the trees they pass. To be on land again feels like another blinding dream.

| 

Feeling defenceless and exposed, she dashes along the stone path. “Son of a biscuit eater,” she curses. “Ye’re too slow! Handsomely, now. We be in enemy waters!”  
  
She is fierce and she is powerful. But she knows to temper her heat. She knows to smooth her edges. He follows in her footsteps, studies as she skilfully manoeuvres through the marketplace. The fingers clutching her _jangot_ are careful, the hands exchanging money are nimble. Her smile is demure and her words are sweet. She speaks with a refined lilt, a noble tone. And this tells him the truth. There are secrets within her, like within him, that she keeps hidden from sight. There is a life within her, like within him, that is the true life she wishes for. He learns of it when he stares at her move from vendor to vendor, welcoming the knowledge.

| 

He follows like a formidable mutt. She learns then not to judge him from his quiet for he is an unerring protector. He remains vigilant of looming soldiers and veers her away. He watches the road for approaching palace officers, knowing she will not bow and towing her aside towards protection. She does not know the extent of his skill with the sword, but she notes the tautness of his arms and the keenness of his sight. Perhaps he was once someone else too, just like her. Perhaps his past is no longer is present either, just like hers. She understands from his watchful protectiveness that he had once protected someone too. Just as she had. And now they are both alone.  
  
“Why do we not loot these shores, captain?” he whispers his burning curiosity to her under the awning of an old nobleman’s house. They hide and partake in a small meal of persimmons, the juice running down their chins and sticking to their skins.

| 

She spits the seed out to watch it bounce against a stone wall and clatter away. “And go t’ Davy Jones’ locker?” she ridicules. “'Tis too blimmin’ dangerous.” He nods his comprehension. She goes on. “Who knows what the navy be up to on these shores.”  
  
Her words do not match her face. He does not ask her again.

| 

She keeps the truth to herself. There is nothing to gain from honesty.  
  
Between water and wet sand is a lace of froth.

| 

Awake and asleep, home echoes in her thoughts.  
  
A memory of light crackles and dances in his chest.

| 

On her skin is the paint of salt, stinging at each blink.  
  
He dives in.

| 

She soars out.  
  
Once there was a place that he called love. He arrived upon it as he walked the banks of the Han, stilling his feet at the sudden burst of fondness. He remembers the way it caressed his face, he remembers its fingers diving into the yawning extent of his heart, to a place no one has touched. "Sometimes a bird does not belong in its cage, Jjong ah," he recalls its speech. "Sometimes, even if letting it go will leave you with nothing, you must open the door. You must let the bird fly."

And so he heeded. 

| 

Once there was a house, its roof blue and its walls thick. She had built it with her devoted hands, laying each brick against the last to raise a wall, raise a roof. Raise a family. A young bride, she had been, and her groom loving. But the tiles cracked. The plaster peeled. It disappeared, piece by piece, until the garden was overgrown and the yard was nothing but rubble. Sometimes, as the ship warps around her, she mistakes it for footsteps and lies awake, listening for something that no longer lives.

And so she weeps.  
  
|   
  
“Splice the ol’ mainbrace, lads!”

| 

“Aye, splice her till she be squiffy!”  
  
On the ship that night, there is merrymaking. The crew sings their rum and drinks their songs away. A raucous yell here, a boisterous laugh there. The shell of danger cracks open to reveal a pearl of camaraderie. Arms swing Jonghyun into wild dances. He forges new friendships, is promised several fictional daughters’ hands in marriage. The quartermaster retells of vicious battles. The cook recounts a tearful story of his own. The cabin boy shares gossip about the captain’s time of the month and is rightfully smacked on the head by the second mate.

Gwiboon is missing from his sight.

| 

Comfort returns to her ribs the moment she loosens the ties on her hanbok and furls it away as if it were a torn and useless piece of sailcloth. The hands eat and drink and fall and make fools of themselves as they always do when there is enough to go around. From the crow’s nest she eyes boatswain sneaking a woman onto the ship and taking her against the mainmast. It is quick and loud and graceless. She aims for his head and spits down at him, cackling when he apologises and fumbles with his trousers. “Old salt,” she mutters, letting go of a sigh and taking a perch to look out for sails.

Jonghyun scrambles up to her.  
  
“You are here,” he traverses the shroud, rope rough against his palms. “Is our company so bad, captain—?” He nearly slips and falls, saving himself in time.

| 

“Worse,” she pronounces, crossing her arms behind her head and watching the sky. “Be careful, rum one, or ye’ll dance the hempen jig!” she offers her help.  
  
He climbs in and seats himself on the side of the bucket. “Surely there's more merriment to be found in a crowd than with the moon?”

| 

“Ye say that like ye be knowin' everythin' about th' moon,” Gwiboon raises a cut eyebrow at him. She is satisfied only when he squirms.  
  
“The moon be what guides us on our journey, ye scallywag,” she murmurs on the wind. “Winsome lass pushes and pulls the briney deep. We float because we pray t’ that comely wench. A sea artist like ye should be knowin' this.” She suddenly accuses. “Or have ye been lyin' t' me all this time?”

| 

He does not defend himself. “Whose face do you reflect to me, dear full moon,” he recites instead, the hair on her arms rising to listen closer. She stops her breath for a moment. “There is a beauty in you I never saw before tonight. Why did you hide it, my nocturnal love, for now I shall be sleepless without its sight.”  
  
She stares at him, but her knives are sheathed.

| 

He blushes and hides but she wants to see.  
  
She feels warm when she is close and kind.

| 

He looks golden under the cuff of his shirt.  
  
“… a bard, are ye?” her whisper is woeful where it lingers on his skin.

| 

He shakes his head. “Nay, captain,” he denies, but she knows.  
  
The breadth of his shoulders vows to never show her his pain. With a valiant smile he stands taller, hopes to give her the relief she seeks. But on the doorway to keeping his vow, he stops and finds the vastness of the sea between them. It is a sea of tears, hers is a body bereft of love.

He turns his head away in shame, knowing that the time to drown has found him yet again.

| 

The plight within her floods her cheeks and becomes her tongue. “Speak yer mind, me hearty,” she fosters. “What put ye in the water that night?”

When he turns again, the stars are shining in his eyes, and that is when she knows how he reads them. That is when she comes to understand they swim within his blood. She watches him with some respect this time, knowing he is more than just a man on a ship.  
  
The sea is made of glowing emeralds.

| 

The sea is made of smouldering peat.  
  
But emeralds die and become dust. Gold wears away until it is but an illusion. Nothing stays, nothing remains. Everything that comes must go, everything that lives must drown. The sea is made of glowing emeralds that remind him of his mortal flesh, cutting through him, driving him with the sword of truth, over and over, again and again. For days that become nights and then back, he is retold this murderous truth.

| 

And from that peat rises her smoke; from beneath it comes her power. She burns it to propel her rage. This world, that once took everything from her, must pay the price her wrath demands. This kingdom and country that sold her away like livestock, must now buy back its place in her favour. The sea is made of smouldering blistering peat, gathered and arranged by her each night before she is taken by her dreams.  
  
The stars blur in rings. The moon haunts his vision. The sea rises and falls. The clouds glide back and forth. The world turns like a beast shifting in sleep. Hours pour out like wine spilled. The ship sails without pause and without cause. Without destination.

Life is a wheel.

| 

Life is a carousel.

It drives one dizzy and spits another away. Life continues even when it stops. Even when it pauses to catch its own breath. Life whirls around the world like a top, coiling and uncoiling its thread in fate’s game. Everything is a game. Life is a joke worth laughing at.  
  
He closes his eyes and breathes to stay alive.

| 

She wanders the decks, looking for answers.  
  
* * *

If he once found love,

| 

then she has lost it.  
  
---|---  
  
If he housed it in his heart and expelled it from his lungs,

| 

it is missing. She is emptied. She is alone in this world.  
  
Love has left him.

| 

Love has left her.  
  
He visits the temple,

| 

and gives her offerings.  
  
He asks for the gods

| 

to make her life whole again  
  
He pleads with a higher power

| 

to return to her what she lost.  
  
He offers a barter:

| 

take my life for his.  
  
He offers an exchange:

| 

take my happiness for his.  
  
He bows his head, bows his pride, hopes without hope,

But she is complete without his addition. He feels her billowing fullness around himself. She sustains life, she champions death. She begins and she ends. She is all-encompassing in her blue depths. And once he reaches her end, she makes him a part of her.

She is a home.

She is a barrier.

She keeps him from falling.

And it saddens him that it has taken him so many years to understand, she cannot be understood.

He weeps.

He sobs.

He pines.

| 

that one day her prayers will be answered by divinity.

He is flawed and he is broken. But he is undeniably beautiful. His incompleteness makes him perfect. His imperfections make him complete. She drifts through his air, soars through his bile and blood, finding him turn lighter and darker in the same moment.

He is a guide.

He is a beacon.

He lets her go unfettered.

And it infuriates her that she cannot stay by his side. She must move on. She must go back to her start.

She burns.

She rages.

She perishes.  
  
He changes his face, once open and happy, once dark and quiet. He changes his face like changing masks

| 

and she watches him change until he grows tired of changing and she grows weary of watching.  
  
She watches until she can no longer stand the sight of him, pushing him away with the same hand that once reached out to pull him closer.

| 

She becomes the undulating sea, bringing him into her embrace only to throw him out, wash him to the shores when she no longer wants him.  
  
And he lets her lead this dance. He allows her to take him on the journey, once happy, once quiet, once livid, once mournful.

| 

He changes, and she changes, and the world around them also changes… until nothing they once knew remains the same.  
  
* * *

“Sail, ho!”

| 

“Sail, ho!”  
  
---|---  
  
The enemy ships appear on their horizon.

| 

The powder monkey hands her a scope.  
  
There is nothing past the horizon. Only more horizon. But in a battle, he knows she will welcome the dance.

| 

There is nothing past the horizon. But it is a line that must be crossed. In a battle, she must protect them all.  
  
His eyes meet hers when she yells her orders. He follows them and readies himself for the skirmish.

| 

“Run a shot across the bow!” she commands the master-at-arms. “I want her a man-o-war in no time!”  
  
The skies are glimmering with sunlight.

| 

The heavens look down on her with fury.  
  
To cheat death may not be so simple.

| 

To cheat death is the game of her life.  
  
He knows not of a more ferocious fighter than a mother fighting to save her child. It is a sight to behold. She emerges, decked in the armour of a legendary warrior, her swords glinting and her eyes dangers. She will draw first blood. She will begin the bout and put it to an end. She will stand at the bowsprit, announcing to the lands and the waves, that the battle has begun. Her naked sword will part the seas. Her wrath is the wrath of a goddess, striking everything down in its path until it disappears in smoke. At a shift of her hips and slide of her feet, the rivers heed her call and flood. At a word from her lips, summer climbs its zenith and dries every lake, every well. She is a siren, and her song is the doom of all men, her rhythms the beat of our ceasing hearts. She fights, and her anklets and bangles and ribbons join in.

| 

If he were a bird, she would’ve set him free of this cage. But he stays and struggles. He stays and lends his blade to the fight. There is bravery in him like no other. There is strength in him she needs to stay strong on her own. His blows are like cannonfire, his speed rivals an archer’s draw. When he shoots a gun, he never misses his mark. When he runs from aft to forecastle, he rides on the sea breeze. She marvels at him every chance she gets. She yells for him every breath she catches. They are separated but they fight with one mind, one soul. They fight to survive. They fight to stay alive. They fight so they may spend another night speaking and breathing and floating like oil on the water of life. Bathed in blood and screaming for victory, he wins every duel and stands to tell the tale.  
  
She is a mother, he realises then. She knows how to protect.

| 

He is no sea artist, she knows then. He is a soldier of gods.  
  
The sea is burning.

| 

The skies are falling.  
  
His wounds are leaking.

| 

Her fears are growing.  
  
When he sheathes his sword, his legs collapse from fatigue. Forgetting the fires and death around them, she yells for the surgeon to _come and see to him smart_.

| 

Holding him close she remembers the past and forgets to lock her tears in her heart. They fall in a cascade that threatens to go on until forever finds them.  
  
|   
  
All she gives is love and kindness. He must be light as a feather to her, lighter than he imagines himself to be. She gathers him as if her were a ball of cloth and lays him on a table for all to see. And when they have stitched and cleaned him up, she nurtures him as if her were her own. She tries to help him be himself again. But the things he leaves unsaid within him are what make him incomplete. The things he wishes were in his hold, the things he wishes he could control— they are unknowns to her. She does not know to name them or identify their forms. Perhaps she thinks it isn’t her place to ask him. Perhaps it is not in his place to answer her. Perhaps he is not here because he wants to be, she must realise. Perhaps he has no other choice.

| 

All he is made of are stories. All that runs in his breath is the tale of someone's fate, someone's happiness and sadness. He speaks in old fables, in epics and lore. He speaks in circles and Gwiboon has no choice but to follow. She can do no more than grip hard at the end of the rope he throws her way, letting him tug her full weight along for the journey. Like he is the captain and she is a jettisoned treasure. She is flotsam in his speech. She is seaweed in his cove of retellings. She is the skull and bones that lay beside his mountain of gold. She is being led by his tongue. And she gives him her ears, her waking hours, all her time. She grants him things she does not have, because had she had them, he would've deserved every single one.  
  
Even so, she gives him love.

| 

Above all, she gives him love.  
  
For the next few days of sailing, she coddles him with anything he needs. The words come from his mouth and within a few blinks she conjures his demands, holding them out as if offering libations at the temple. But he is still filled with voiceless desires, he shows her glimpses of them whenever he asks about the ship, about the other hands.

| 

She tells him what she can bear to tell him—that the crew knows not of his true powers, that his identity remains a secret only for her to bear. That the others still keep the ship sailing and perform their duties, but she senses the mutiny in the darkness of their eyes. “It matters not,” she bravely claims. “I have you, friend. This is my purpose now.”  
  
The waves are rolling.

| 

The salt is burning.  
  
His words are spilling.

| 

Her tears are falling.  
  
He closes his eyes and breathes to stay alive.

| 

She wanders the decks, begging for answers.  
  
|   
  
“This world…” he says in his waking hours. “This world is not for us,” he shakes his head. “This world was made by kings and queens. It was made for them to live in. One like me, one like you… we do not survive in this world. We live under its feet. We cling on for all our lives and then we are crushed. We are destroyed. This is not our world.” He lays on his back and watches the night.

| 

“Is that our world then?" she follows his eyes to the moon. Once more the moon, that whore of the night, chaining him with its magic. With a curse, she covers his eyes so he simply listens. “In a place like that… would we stop surviving and start living?” she scoffs. “We have only one place. We have only our own fates. There is no… no choosing our way out of a fight like this.”  
  
“There is no place for us in this world or in that one. We belong nowhere. We are outsiders to life.”

| 

She remembers the last image of her son, reaching out for her to snatch him back into her arms.  
  
“There is nowhere to call home,” his face is wet against her fingers. “We… we should not exist,” he sobs and holds on to stay afloat.

| 

“We must,” she nods. “We must keep living. Not for ourselves. We do not exist for ourselves. Our life is meant for others.”  
  
The sea is made of glowing emeralds.

| 

The sea is made of smouldering peat.  
  
The rain is fast and heavy. It moves in without a sound, and when it has arrived it makes a clamour. It bathes his thoughts, drenches his sleep, floods his dreams with fear of drowning. Fear that she is gone. Fear that he is once again left to sink into his loneliness, nothing else remaining of him. He throws away his blankets and recklessly searches for her. He searches through time and light and the gravel of his terror bites the soles of his feet. “Captain…” he calls. “Captain—”

| 

She is waiting. Lit like a thousand lamps, she is waiting. With a wave, she brings him closer, joins their eyes. She is the pitch of night, her depth like potent spirits in a shaman’s duffel. She fills his heart with medication, lets relief soak him. She wards his fears away, wards his pain away, makes him forget where his eyes stray as they sail over her. She stretches out her hand for him to take, for him to pull. As always, he follows her orders. “I am here,” she assures.  
  
They climb. They ascend. They traverse through time like it is a mountain. They rise until they are where they need to be. They climb and climb and climb until they reach the top. They touch the air and then—

| 

He wakes with a start. She hushes his tears to silence. She pulls the weight pinning him down and frees him from his place. There are gulls screeching outside. There are sighs stirring inside.  
  
The sky is bright.

| 

The night is clear.  
  
The air is peaceful.

| 

The tide is calmed.  
  
He opens his eyes and smiles to say he’s alive.

| 

She closes the door and lets sand heal her.  
  
When he becomes himself, when spring finally takes him, when the seasons change and the flowers swallow his senses, he will follow. He won't fight it.

| 

When she finds herself, when the summer sun burns her, when the earth warms and life on the sea no longer captivates her, she won't fight it.  
  
* * *

To live in this world becomes unbearable.

To live on and on, a life lasting each day and every night, becomes unbearable.

But there are pleasures to be found even in this agony—

When they sail and the water does not attempt to stop them. When they journey for many fathoms, speaking the evenings away until the candles are burnt and the wax is pooled on her table. When residue of smoke and heat remains on his mirror. When their time together replaces all else in the world – in the sea and above it. When she finds pressed flowers in his clothes. When he finds a forest in her dreams. When they draw their paths with their fingers, maps forgotten and stars overlooked. When dust settles on her memories, when night settles on his wordless days. When the sky is unnecessary and the moon useless. When oceans disappear and hearts dissolve:

They pray.

Together, they pray that life remains unceasing.  
  
---  
  
* * *


End file.
